So you're having an April baby, Kate and William? I hate to say it, but it's not all good news
As soon as you see that little blue cross on the pregnancy test stick meaning “positive”, the mental arithmetic begins: if, for argument’s sake, you conceived around a fortnight ago, what month will it be in 40 weeks’ time? What date?
And most importantly, what does this mean for the microscopic yet no doubt already adorable being growing inside you?
Because the truth is the month of birth matters. A quick internet search for the phrase “autumn babies” tells us they enjoy an academic advantage, are more likely to succeed in sport and are more likely to reach their 100th birthday, just for starters.
Winter babies, so we’ve been told, are bigger, brighter, more successful and more easy-going. Summer babies supposedly face an uphill battle at school but may be heavier at birth and taller as adults.
And what of spring babies? The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have announced their third child is due in April, and without wanting to rain on their parade, at a glance this doesn’t augur well.
An April baby, some studies suggest, is at greater risk of alcohol abuse, autism, bipolar, eating disorders and glaucoma. On the other hand, spring babies may also enjoy a sunnier disposition and be less likely to suffer mental illness. So that’s ok then.
Given that few of us are able to plan these things with anything like precision, it’s perhaps not worth getting too worked up about it. But as someone who, 18 months ago, gave birth to an April baby, I can vouch that there are definite pros and cons, and they have nothing to do with the statistical likelihood of glaucoma, or indeed any other malady.
The main plus point, rather, has to do with the weather. Discounting any freak weather events, it is generally warm enough in April to solve a crying baby by bustling her into her pram and walking her around the streets or park until she surrenders.
Try doing this in winter (I did, with my first child) and you’ll need to spend at least an hour arranging them into their snowsuit, which is largely impossible because of the way their newborn legs and arms never fit into the right bits in the right way.
Once outside, you’ll grow cold before they have grown tired, and to the chronically sleep-deprived parent, the whole thing will feel like an epic disaster. But in April, the walking is pleasant and the baby will (ok, might) sleep peacefully beneath the trees as they burst into leaf.
If your April baby has one or more older siblings, moreover - as the Cambridges’ baby will - the ability to turf everyone out of doors as soon as tempers start fraying is a godsend. The days I was trapped in the house with a toddler and a newborn were among the hardest I have ever endured.
As a rule, by 9am everyone is screaming - the baby, the older sibling(s) and yourself. Leaving the house allows the screaming to dissipate. Of course, it will be succeeded by more screaming later, but at least there’ll be a brief period of respite in between.
The third plus point is that giving birth in April means not being heavily pregnant in the hot summer months. By the time the weather heats up, the baby will be out and you’ll no longer have to heave yourself around with what feels like a small elephant inside you.
On the other hand, the summer months can be difficult with a very young baby. Give birth in April and by the time you are fully functional, the sun will be beating down - some of the time, at least - and presenting you with a whole new set of problems: should I put suncream on the baby? (No.)
Is it bad if he gets too much sun on him? (Yes.) Is he too hot? (Probably.) What if he overheats? (I don’t know, it still terrifies me.)
Meanwhile, there’s another issue looming: when you're ready to get fully stuck into the baby scene, the long summer holidays will be upon you, and during school holidays, for a reason I’ve yet to ascertain, everything you might want to do with your now marginally more alert baby is shut.
The singalongs, the classes, the stay-and-plays - everything seems to be closed the minute the schools are out.
“There’s absolutely nothing to do!” my friends and I would wail to each other desperately.
“How are we meant to get through the day with these children when Wriggle and Rhyme, Little Caterpillars and Baby Snuggle Sing Song are all not happening?”
I’ve no doubt the Duchess of Cambridge will find other ways to spend her next maternity leave. I’ll be interested to hear what they are.
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